


The Hulk and The Bird On Fire

by AMaskOnTwoFaces



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (2008)
Genre: Animagus Harry Potter, But this fic has me at a loss, Camping, Fluff, Gen, Hiking, I'm usually good at tagging, Magic Revealed, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Avengers (2012), Travel, World Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:20:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 4,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26437849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMaskOnTwoFaces/pseuds/AMaskOnTwoFaces
Summary: Bruce is being followed.But for the first time, it’s not by humans who want him dead.  In fact, it’s not by a human at all.
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Harry Potter
Comments: 36
Kudos: 495





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Should I be starting yet another WIP? Probably not. Am I anyways? Yes indeed.
> 
> This fic will be comprised of very short installments. I actually limit myself to one page on my doc for each chapter, if that gives you any idea of their length.
> 
> A note before we start;  
> A lot of the first chapters will take place in Africa and the Middle East. I'm doing my best to respect these regions and represent them as accurately as possible, but I'm not terribly studied in these regions (thanks American education) and have never been outside of mainland America and a couple European countries myself. Essentially, I'm doing a lot of work to make sure I get geography and vegetation correct, and making sure that the characters come across more than just "villages of starving people built on swathes of dirt". Africa has over 50 countries, which were mostly laid out by Europeans with no care for the numerous tribes they grouped together and split up; irregardless for who hated who or who loved who. Many of these countries have bustling cities filled with skyscrapers and airports and offices and international trade. There are so many different cultures and religions and languages, and I'm not gonna be able to do the research to really involve these details to an extent that gives them justice, but I will do my best to acknowledge their existence where appropriate.
> 
> If you come from a similarly white-washed education like myself, I hope you can at least take an expanded view of the vastness and complexity of Africa with you.

Bruce is being followed. 

But for the first time, it’s not by humans who want him dead. In fact, it’s not by a human at all.

Today he saw the bird for the third time in as many days. It’s hard to miss, with a brilliant gold and ruby plumage that looks like dancing flames under the light of the sun. It’s an extraordinary specimen, and almost doesn’t seem like it belongs in the natural world. What unnerves him, though, is that yesterday he was in Brazil. In South America. Today he is in Ghana. In Africa.

((The flight over was a risk, but he figured 8 hours stuck on a plane was less of a risk than several weeks stuck on a boat.))

It should be impossible, therefore, that he’s seeing the same bird he just saw on a separate continent. No bird could have flown that distance in a day, not even close, but he also can’t see such a unique iridescent plumage occurring on two similar bird species on two different continents. The likelihood of that; unspeakably small.

That leaves a couple of options. In light of recent... personal events, Bruce knows that there are some strange things that are out there wandering the earth. 

Perhaps this is a bird that has been very intensely genetically engineered. It might actually be able to fly as fast as a plane. Perhaps it has been trained to follow him and spy on him. He shudders at the thought. He has a hard enough time running from humans. A super-bird? He wouldn’t stand a chance hiding from such a thing.

Perhaps it is someone like him; an experiment gone wrong (or perhaps right?). Someone who can change their shape to that of some other, new creature. (He wonders if they can change by will. If they can remember and control their actions in their alternate form. If they understand how lucky they are to have such a beautiful and peaceful-looking second form. (He wonders what it would be like if he could do the same.))

Perhaps it is not a creature at all, perhaps it is a machine, only designed to look like a creature to be slightly less conspicuous, or perhaps for the sheer beauty of it. The idea of a machine makes him think of being spied on again, but he doubts that such a noticeable thing would be used as subterfuge. 

Perhaps it is a creature of magic, shapeshifter or not, and it is simply following him around out of curiosity. Perhaps it was able to just teleport a continent over. Perhaps it is only following him because he smells weird.

Perhaps he is hallucinating.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am incapable of having a WIP sit around with just one chapter attached to it, here's a second installment already.

Bruce wakes up from yet another transformation. He has some vague impression of fire and--oddly enough--music. 

The bird is there, watching him. He is both comforted by its constant presence and unnerved by all the unknowns it signifies. 

It's going on three weeks now of his shiny shadow following him. 

"You're still here, huh?" he muses out loud, voice scratchy from all of the Hulk’s yelling, "The Other Guy can't even scare you off?"

The bird trills in what seems like a response. 

Bruce looks at it. It might be intelligent enough to understand him. He can't understand it in return, so it's hard to tell if it's just responding to his voice, or if it's actually comprehending him and trying to communicate back. 

It hurts too much to think right now though, so Bruce sighs and plops his head back down on the ground. He knows he should get up and take stock of where he is and find some shelter for the night (and a feast for a king, his stomach tells him, empty from all the calories the Hulk burned in his recent rampage). He knows he should, but for just a couple of minutes, he's just too tired to go on. He's as safe as he could be, and even if he isn't, well, the Other Guy can handle it. Bruce just doesn't want to be responsible for a while. 

((He doesn't want to think about all the lives that might have been caught in the middle of Hulk's most recent appearance. Of how many of his enemies are just trying to do their job. Of how many civilians are killed. Of how much damage he's wrought to these communities that already don't have much.))

Bruce curls up on his side. He's tired. He doesn't want to deal with this right now. 

The bird starts to sing and he can't help but to cry with the sheer beauty of it. 


	3. 3

It turns out Bruce ended up nowhere near any civilization. He's walked for four days and there's still no sign of human life. 

Or he’s walking in the wrong direction.

Or in circles.

He sighs. He should make a camp for a couple days to rest and get his strength back up before he continues his search. His only clothes--his pants--are in tatters, and it seems like some weather is moving in. He'll need protection from the elements. While the cold won't kill him (or at least, he doesn't think it can), he'll still be miserable if he doesn't get something to cover himself with soon. 

He pauses and looks to the bird where it alights in the tree next to him, "What do you think, is this a good enough spot for a camp?" 

The bird tilts its head, trills, and takes off again. It lands again a short distance away, swinging its head back to look at Bruce. 

Bruce decides that there's worse things he can do than following a bird that may or may not actually be trying to lead him somewhere. He shrugs and trudges on after his brightly colored friend. 


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I unexpectedly had the evening off, as one of the places I teach extra-curriculars for suddenly switched to online for the next couple of weeks. In celebration of me having free time for once while the sun is still out, I am posting another chapter for ya'll while I sit on my deck and enjoy the fresh air.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this installment and the character introduction made within!

Bruce doesn't remember going to sleep, but he wakes up disoriented. 

He's covered in a blanket, which is baffling since he’s definitely only had his tattered pants on his person since that last transformation. He's still in the cave that the bird led him to yesterday, but now there’s the warm blanket covering him and a fire crackling next to him that he has no memory of.

He pushes himself up to a sitting position, but just stays there blinking confusedly at the fire he didn't start until some rustling outside the cave draws his attention. 

A young man steps into view. He's a paler brown, not quite white, but is still rather startling to see after so many weeks spent around the smaller towns and villages in West Africa. He's got dark, unruly hair and is carrying a bundle of firewood. 

He also does a very good impression of a statue when he notices Bruce's eyes on him. 

"Uh, hi there?" Bruce says, not knowing how else to approach this strange man who's obviously been caring for him. 

"Er, hullo," the man replies, voice quiet and almost timid. His eyes dart away from Bruce as he carefully resumes his approach, kneeling by the fire and setting his haul down just out of reach of the flames. Bruce lets him work in silence, watching him stack the logs by size before adding a couple to the fire and stroking it higher. He's in no rush to question the man who's helping make his life more comfortable. 

Finally, the man turns back to face Bruce. He looks more like a boy now that Bruce has had a chance to get a good look at him; his features aren’t developed enough to fully be a man, but the sureness with which he carries himself was too mature for Bruce to be able to see it at first; he’s someone who has had to grow up too fast.

The boy’s eyes dart away again as he swallows, “So… I’m Harry.”

“Bruce,” Bruce offers. Harry doesn’t offer a hand for a handshake. Bruce doesn’t try to initiate one.

Harry suddenly chuckles as he runs his hand through his hair. “I didn’t really plan this out,” he admits, ducking his head.

Bruce lets his curiosity show on his face, but otherwise remains silent, just listening.

Harry takes a deep breath, finally raising his eyes to meet Bruce’s inquisitive gaze. “There’s no good way to go about this, so I’m just going to come out and say it. I’m the phoenix—the bird—that’s been following you around these last several weeks. I don’t mean to be a stalker, it’s just that you’re… different, and I identify with that. I didn’t mean to be creepy, it’s just... I wanted to stay by someone else who was different like me.”

Bruce processes this. It seems that one of his hypotheses on his bird shadow proved to be correct; it  _ was  _ someone who could also transform into a creature.

“Alright,” he says, and leaves it at that.


	5. 5

“You said earlier that you’re a phoenix?”

Harry swallowed his bite of stew. Bruce even saw him make it, yet he still has no idea where Harry got the food or dishes to make it with “I mean, I can turn into one, yeah.”

“Do phoenixes exist naturally?” Bruce inquires. There’s so much in this world that he thought he knew.

“Yes. Er, well... not here they don’t.”

“So you come from somewhere else where they do?” Is he from a different planet? From a different dimension?

Harry’s face shuts down at the question though. He presses his lips together, turning his head away as he swallows before finally rasping, “Yes.”

“Sorry,” Bruce murmurs, because it’s obvious that he can’t go back to wherever he’s from. He bites back all the curious questions he wants to ask, as a scientist; as a human of Earth meeting an outsider; as a freak--a monster--meeting someone who just might understand.

***

Later that night, laying on an almost magically procured nest of blankets, Bruce whispers under the safety of darkness, asking the two questions that have been burning his tongue the most.

“Can you transform at will?” He breathes into the silent night air.

“Yes.” 

“Does it hurt?”

Harry shifts in his pile of blankets, “It’s not unpleasant, no.” 

“That must be nice,” Bruce sighs.

“It is,” Harry smiles. He can hear it.

Bruce doesn’t remember falling asleep. He dreams of flying above forests of green.


	6. 6

They start travelling together. Harry sometimes walking next to him as a human, but more often than not flying above him as a bird.

Now that he knows what--or rather, who--the bird is, Bruce finds himself watching it even more intently than before.

Watching the flash of flaming feathers flitting between lush leaves of green. Disappearing in the foliage before reappearing almost playfully in little bobs and weaves angled back at Bruce.

Harry seems to preen under Bruce’s increased attentions, performing exacting acrobatic maneuvers, spreading his wings to catch the sun  _ just _ right as he glides, and pecking at any strange fruits and flowers they happen upon, much to Bruce’s consternation. 

They find themselves traveling north, following roads when they happen upon civilization again, hitching rides where they can. As they move from Ghana to Burkina Faso, the terrain gets drier and flatter, and the towns get bigger--or at least they  _ feel _ bigger--with no forests to hem them in.

With the lack of cover, Harry tends to stay more in his human form, often chatting amicably regarding the various strange candies of his home: from blood-pops, to jelly beans of literally every flavor, to frogs of chocolate that actually  _ move _ .

Bruce finds himself laughing time and time again at the antics of his companion, and he wonders at when he last felt this light.


	7. 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's amazing how productive I can be when I'm in the habit of creating in the evening.

Border crossings have always been a tricky thing for Bruce.

As someone often without papers or records of him entering and exiting countries, it’s rather difficult for him to do things the legal way. Several times he’s had to find someone to forge documents for him (--always harder if you don’t speak the language--), like he did in order to get that flight from Brazil to Ghana all those weeks ago. 

But forgery—and the occasional case of straight-up bribery—cost money. And money is hard to come by when you are constantly on the move, and hard to hold on to when you have sudden, unexpected bouts of losing all your belongings, up to and including the shirt on your back. 

So many times Bruce has opted for illegal crossings instead. The escapades in the night filled with mad dashes through unpaved landscapes, trying to miss any border patrols as he goes. Those lonely, stress-filled nights where Bruce knows there’s no one to save him if he gets caught. That the only thing between him and a cage is sheer luck, his own quick-witted analysis, and his ability to  _ just. keep. moving.  _

The Hulk bubbles close to the surface on those nights. Called into being by Bruce’s stress and anxiety and the choking reality that  _ this is his life now. This is how he’s going to live out the rest of his seemingly endless days.  _

But those were border crossings in Latin America. This will be his first land crossing in Africa. 

Here his skin is an even greater identifier of him as someone who doesn’t belong. An outsider. Passing through some remote stretches of these countries. No car, no money, no suitcase. An oddity. And that makes him notable. 

It makes his skin crawl to think of how many see him come through, and how many pass that on to the US military whenever they come in search of him. 

It’s better to keep moving. He needs to disappear before they can catch up. Needs to keep whatever lead the Hulk has given him for as long as possible. 

And that means crossing the border. 

Bruce looks at his new companion. The short, curly-haired man who walks by his side with his head in the clouds. 

Will Harry be able to follow him?


	8. 8

It turns out to be a non-issue. 

When Bruce asks Harry about the crossing, Harry just smiles conspiratorially and pulls a stick out of his sleeve. 

And then summarily proceeds to turn a nearby rock into the very pot he’s been cooking in for the past several weeks.

Bruce misses a step, stumbles, and has to take several running paces to keep himself upright. When he recovers, face flaming, he glares first at Harry, who grins winningly at him, then turns his attention to this rock-cum-pot.

He scratches his head, “Is it a pot that turns into a rock? Or a rock that turns into a pot?” he’s very confused on where Harry is trying to take this. His thought is that it might be an  _ object _ with similar transformative powers as himself and Harry, and maybe the stick acts as an instigator to that reaction? But then how did the rock move with them? Bruce had thought that it was just a random rock on the side of the road, but he doesn’t know that for certain. Yet, if it  _ was  _ just a random rock, then perhaps the power doesn’t lie with the rock, but with the stick? “...or, the stick turned the rock into the pot?”

Harry’s grin widens, “Closer,” he says, “It would be more accurate to say that with the assistance of this stick, I  _ convinced _ this rock that it would be better if it temporarily assumed the shape and composition of what we tend to refer to as a cooking pot.”

Bruce looks up sharply at that choice of words.  _ Convince _ . “So… you’re saying that you could…  _ convince _ other objects to be other things.”

Harry tilts his head from side to side, lips pursing, “Objects, animals…” he eyes Bruce from the side, “People…”

Bruce can’t help the sharp intake of breath, but he forces himself to hold his ground.  _ Hulk _ forces him to hold his ground. “And when’s the last time you used this stick to-- to  _ convince _ a person?”

Harry taps said stick against his chin, “Hmmm, I think just the once in this dimension. About a year ago, when I first came here. I’m not very well-versed in technology, so I needed someone to create an identity for me, and had no money to get them to do so through less magical means.”

Magic? Oh...  _ OH. _ A magic wand. Used to cast spells. His other form was a phoenix, presumably a magic creature.

_ “Magic,”  _ Bruce breathes in wonder.

They were getting across this border.


	9. 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't know why, but I struggled to bring this short chapter up to the standard I wanted it at, so sorry about the wait (--I say as my other, longer fics languor in dusty, unclicked tabs on this chrome window)

Closer and closer they get to the Sahara. 

Even with Bruce’s advantage of the Hulk and Harry’s recently-revealed magic (which worked wonders for convincing the border guards that they  _ did _ have the correct paperwork to enter this country, thank you very much), Bruce is hesitant to enter such an utter wasteland as that desert.

Instead, they’ve started angling west, heading back towards the Atlantic Ocean. They cross the expanse of Burkina Faso and make their way into Mali, hopping this border just as easily as the last.

With Harry’s magic, Bruce has no reason to try to locate and interact with civilization; Harry can provide whatever food they need, whatever supplies they need. They do their best to avoid people, both for the safety of others and for the safety of themselves; helping to prevent them from being tracked by the American military and to prevent any civilian casualties if they  _ do  _ get found.

When, halfway across Mali, they have to go into the city of Mopti in order to catch a ferry across the Niger River, Bruce doesn’t feel the usual tension he gets from interacting with civilians. Harry just brings a warmth and ease to Bruce’s life, one that was rare even before he gained his green counterpart.


	10. 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! long time no see!
> 
> I'm discovering that I'm incapable of being an active creative person when the sun sets before I eat dinner. Afternoon is usually when I'm most motivated, but right now afternoon is An hour, and is gone by the time I finish work. Thus, all my fics are sitting stagnant rn and I'm trying to not let that continue to be true.
> 
> Lucky for you, this is one of the longer ones.
> 
> (I'm also learning that I am unpracticed at those hand-wavy 'time is passing' narrations, so blame the first paragraph or two of this chapter for why it took so long to edit and get to you, as they were giving me similar frustrations as the entire last chapter.)
> 
> I do have the next three chapters basically written, and ideas for at least four chapters after that as well, so do know that any delays in getting updates to you is due to lack of motivation to edit, and not that I've run into a wall in developing the story.

In Mali, they duck a bit south once they cross the Niger river, sticking to the more heavily vegetated areas for as long as they can. They push all the way west to the Atlantic coast, crossing into Senegal, and stop just outside of the city of St. Louis for one last day of preparation and planning. Finally, though, they start the journey north into Mauritania, the Sahara, and beyond.

Almost as soon as they cross into Mauritania, the few remaining trees and grasses disappear. The soil turns into a red grit that blows harsh in their faces, and the only vegetation remaining are scrubby shrubs, growing gnarled and twisted right out of the sand.

Even though they’re sticking to the coastline where the ocean provides some humidity and cool breezes, the climate is still hot and dry and unforgiving. Besides the city of Nouakchott, which they reach almost a week in, any signs of civilization in this country are few and far between.

Bruce already feels covered in sand, and he knows it’s only going to get worse from here.

They travel at night, taking advantage of the cooler (honestly bordering on cold) nighttime temperatures, and use the dark to avoid scrutiny from any vehicles driving down the highway they’re hiking past.

During the day, Harry whips out a large tent for them to sleep in, coating it in what he claims are ‘cooling charms’ and ‘Muggle-repelling wards’, on top of some sort of proximity alerts. It boils down to them having a nice, cool shelter to sleep in through the heat of the day; one that keeps away anyone searching for them and prevents anyone random from stumbling over them.

But the sand. Ugh.

Bruce shakes it out of his curls every morning before he goes to sleep; the long patter of falling granules making him wrinkle his nose at how absolutely  _ covered _ he is. And while the arid climate is a welcome change from the sticky, sweaty, muggy forests he was walking through in Ghana (--and in South America before that--), the fact that his sweat dries so fast here that it only leaves white salt building up in his hairline and eyebrows means that he just feels gritty. Constantly.

Harry seems less perturbed than Bruce by this climate, but Bruce strongly suspects that there is magic at play that he’s not being told about. He watches Harry more closely than usual (which is to say, he actually tries to pay attention to his friend when his mind would normally wander), but there’s no hint of whatever sorcery Harry  _ must  _ be using to feel more comfortable in this climate.

Either way, regardless of how much they’re avoiding the brunt of this massive, harsh desert, even these outer reaches of the Sahara make Bruce want to take a long, cold shower and never venture outside ever again.

And yet on they walk.


	11. 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My next chapter was actually all ready to go, so I really just had to curate the recipe for the endnotes. Here's the next chapter before I forget it exists and don't post it for another month.
> 
> If you're confused, this is the second chapter I've posted in a 3 hour period. Make sure you go read chapter 10 before this one!

There’s one dish in particular that Harry makes...

Domoda, he calls it. 

Rich and hearty, it’s got this base of peanut butter and tomatoes, which juxtapose each other  _ just _ so; the earthy, fatty flavor of the peanuts complimenting the tangy acidity of the tomatoes. Add in some sweet potatoes for body, and you have a whole other host of complexities. Sweet and tangy and nutty, all mixed together and served over a bed of rice; Bruce can never get enough of it.

“It’s more of a delicacy,” Harry says, as he stirs the pot where it simmers over the fire. Bruce is positively drooling from the smell, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to bear the next half an hour before he can eat it. Harry must have the self-control of a monk to not taste it every 30 seconds with the spoon in his hand, “It’s usually served with meat, like chicken thighs, but I noticed you don’t eat meat if you can help it, so I’ve abstained from adding any. Honestly my grocery bill has gone way down now that I’ve stopped buying meat.”

“You’re grocery bill? You mean you buy the food?”

“Er… yes?” Harry looks up at him in confusion.

“Huh,” Bruce says, placing his chin on his fist, “And here I thought you created it out of thin air, and just went through the process of cooking for the fun of it.”

“Oh,” Harry shrugs, “Well, I admit that I could use magic to make the cooking process faster, but I do enjoy doing it the muggle--er, non-magical--way. And no, I can’t just make food out of thin air. That’s one of the foundational rules of magic; you can’t create food. I can, however, preserve it for much longer than you’re used to,” he pulls out a pouch, summarily sticking his arm into it like it’s a Mary Poppins bag, way deeper than a cloth receptacle has any business being. He somehow pulls out some perfectly yellow bananas from a bag that’s the size of his fist, “I bought these two weeks ago when I was stocking up in St. Louis before we started heading into the desert. Shelf life for bananas is usually about a week, max, but these would probably be good for another month before the preservation chams start to wear off. You usually don’t want to apply those more than once on foodstuffs unless it’s absolutely necessary though, otherwise you’ll start seriously affecting the flavor. I also have a little section for items I want to keep cold, like the dairy products and whatnot, just so those refrigeration charms don’t carry over to the produce and such that I  _ don’t _ want cold.”

Bruce is utterly fascinated. At first he was trying to wrap his head around this seemingly endless, unknown force called magic (and ignoring it since it seemed like there was no way to make it fit into how Bruce understood the world). But now there are  _ properties _ , and  _ rules _ , and  _ classifications _ .

_ It’s just another branch of science _ .

“Do you mind if I take a look at that bag?” Bruce asks. 

Perhaps he  _ does _ have something to occupy his time with before the Domoda is ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A recipe for Domoda; a Gambian curried stew with a tomato and peanut base, typically served over rice, originating from the Mandinka people:
> 
> Take some meat, either chicken thighs (like 4 or so), or some beef (probably no more than 1lb; I’ve never used beef, but I know it’s possible, so I have very little directions for it; probably something nicer--this is a delicacy dish--so no ground beef, and idk, maybe cube it before cooking? Or cook it whole and shred before serving? Google is your friend.) and cook in a large pot until cooked through (whatever that means for you **Note: the meat will cook more when the stew boils/simmers later, so err on the side of underdone rather than overdone.). Remove from pot and place aside. (Can be skipped to make this dish vegetarian.) 
> 
> [[Here you can either use the left behind fat for your oil going forward, choose to pour some of it out, or remove it all and use a fresh cooking oil of your choice]]
> 
> Saute an onion and a clove of garlic, both chopped, in the oil.
> 
> On full heat, add 3 Roma tomatoes (diced), ½ can tomato paste (3oz), and ¾ cup natural unsweetened peanut butter (I’ve used regular peanut butter with no issue as well). Stir.
> 
> On half heat, add 3 cups water, 4 cubes (4 Tbsp) Maggi or knorr bouillon, juice from one lemon, the meat from earlier (feel free to leave the chicken whole or pull apart or chop up however), and chopped vegetables of your choice. Some chillies can be added here to taste for heat.
> 
> Boil 45 minutes or simmer for 1 hour, stirring occasionally. Serve over Basmati rice.
> 
> Vegetable suggestions: potatoes, sweet potatoes, carrots, squash, etc. (typically a root vegetable or something similarly hearty that can withstand long cooking times). I’m particularly fond of using sweet potatoes.
> 
> I researched this dish for a college project a couple years ago, made it without the meat for budget reasons, and did my best to streamline several recipes I found online, so if you have more personal experience with this dish (and therefore any better detail or corrections), I’d love to hear from you! But I have made this dish several times to great success in my family since then as well, so as is it’s pretty good for the American palette.
> 
> Or, more professionally, without all my asides:
> 
> Domoda  
> West African stew (main course, makes 4 servings)
> 
> \- 4 whole chicken thighs OR 1lb beef  
>  \- 1 onion, chopped  
>  \- 1 clove garlic, chopped  
>  \- 3 Roma tomatoes, diced  
>  \- ½ can (3oz) tomato paste  
>  \- ¾ cup natural unsweetened peanut butter  
>  \- 3 cups water  
>  \- 4 cubes (4 Tbsp) Maggi or knorr bouillon  
>  \- Juice from 1 lemon  
>  \- Vegetable of choice (ex: 2 large sweet potatoes), chopped  
>  \- 2-3 dried chillies
> 
> In a large pot, sear meat, leaving the inside slightly underdone. Remove from pot. Place aside.
> 
> In leftover fat, brown onion and garlic.
> 
> On HIGH heat, add tomatoes, tomato paste, and peanut butter. Stir.
> 
> On MEDIUM heat, add water, bouillon, lemon juice, vegetables, chillies, and meat from earlier. Stir.
> 
> Boil for 45 minutes OR simmer for 1 hour, stirring occasionally.
> 
> Remove from heat and use tongs or large forks to shred meat. 
> 
> Serve over Basmati rice.


	12. 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy year's end!
> 
> If you celebrated any holidays, I hope they passed pleasantly!
> 
> Just a quick note; I have trouble keeping my writing in purely one tense. This fic *should* be in present tense, so if you see any strange past tense wandering around, please point it out to me! My brain switches whenever it wants, and I don't always catch it all in editing, which can leave anywhere from half a sentence to several full paragraphs in the wrong tense. (Same for some of my longer chaptered fics; I laugh heartily on how random and sporadic the tense changes are.)

A cool breeze stir’s Bruce’s hair. Groggy, he blinks his eyes open to see Harry pouring over a book in the early evening light.

“What are you reading?” he croaks, voice stiff with sleep.

Harry startles, instinctively closing the book. “Oh!” he smiles, “You’re awake!” He glances down at the volume in his hand. “It’s a cookbook focused on Gambian cuisine, the same one I found the Domoda recipe in. There’s a lot of vegetarian dishes in here that I think you’ll like.”

Bruce must be making an especially blank face, because Harry snorts.

“What? I enjoy cooking and experimenting, and it’s always great to try out the local cuisine, right?”

It’s definitely still too early to process any of this. Coffee. He needs coffee.

“What,” Harry continues, “where do you think I keep picking up new dishes from? Telepathy? Osmosis? I’m actually 500 years old and have traveled the world five times over?”

Bruce flushes, not really knowing what he was thinking. Harry just breaks so many rules of the universe that it feels like everything is possible; that he’s infinitely powerful and just doesn’t choose to use it. 

“…I just haven’t seen you read before,” Bruce finally replies, feeling like his answer does no justice to the questions in his head. 

Harry shrugs, “I’m a bit of an insomniac, and definitely got trained from a young age to be an early riser.” He stands, lifting his arms above his head in a full-body stretch, “I’ve been reading whenever I wake up too early, then tend to move into my morning routine closer to the time you wake up.”

Harry’s right. Bruce has never woken up first, and somehow, Harry is always stretching and moving around when he wakes. He had gotten so used to the comfort of that routine that he never questioned it. It’s a splash of cold water on his face to be reminded that his companion, as powerful of an enigma as he appears to be, is still just a man, one with interests and habits and personality quirks like any other. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and traumas, Bruce. He’s got traumas too, but you don’t have enough info to extrapolate that he mentioned one of them yet...


	13. 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!
> 
> Here's lucky number chapter 13. I hope you enjoy reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it!

It takes them nearly a month of nocturnal travel to cross the harsh desert of the Western Sahara. 

Reaching the border to Morocco almost feels like a holiday. The hardest part is nearly over; the landscape can only get more habitable from here.

It’s 30 miles from the border to Khnifiss National Park. They reach it by the end of the second night’s travel, and decide to sit and take a rest there.

In silence, they watch the rising sun cast deep shadows on the red cliffs; cliffs that are carved serpentine by the pulsing waves of the little inlet. 

This small arm of the sea is trying to reach into the driest lands on Earth, only succeeding in pulling away the crumbling rock in its path. Never meshing. Never able to cooperate enough to become one, to become bigger and better than the powerful forces that they are apart.

It’s not the sea’s fault, though. The sea is rife with life. Schools of fish dart this way and that, splashing against the surface waves. A little crab scuttles, looking lost on the miniscule beach below.

No, it’s the desert that prevents any collaboration between the land and water here. The foundation has been lost. There are no roots, nothing to hold the sand together, nothing to keep it from blowing away at the slightest provocation. Without the support to keep it stable, the water is all but useless here.

Bruce glances over at Harry’s contented hum. The man looks at peace. His chin rests on his fist, elbow balanced on a drawn-up knee. Black hair is tousled by the wind as half-lidded eyes gaze distantly at the harsh beauty brought forth by death, tide, and time.

A small flock of flamingos migrate past. Softly feathered and softly colored, they seem at odds with the warm red sands and dark blue sea. But in the golden light of the morning rays casting fire across the scene, Bruce thinks that  _ Harry’s  _ feathered form would fit right in.

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning that while I do have a couple of installments of this ready-made, I tend binge-update a multitude of my works at once, and on a very irregular schedule. It might be two days before my next update, or it might be several months. 
> 
> This fic is also more of a happy fic for myself and the continuation of my own mental well-being, and is relatively low priority when it comes to updating my WIPs, please don't be surprised when there is long stretches between updates.


End file.
